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A Quarter of a Year Gone: Taxes and a Blog Post Due.

A Quarter of a Year Gone: Taxes and a Blog Post Due.


Well, Little Man, as your nap times have significantly decreased and your desire to run a marathon has multiplied by, like, a gazillion–and mommy’s sales have multiplied by, well, not a gazillion, but close . . . . ish–we’ve been busy-busy and kickin’-kickin’. My point is this:

You’re a doll,

Mommy doesn’t sleep (albeit you? Ten to twelve hours per night),

blogging about your cuteness is going to have to occur only once a month.

Photos of you are still in full-forever-swing, no worries. My poor Facebook friends.

A quick list of milestones this past (fourth) month:

  • Standing! Mommy holds under your armpits or just arm chub and you’re a little beanstalk! If beanstalks had rolls of healthy chub and splattered spit-up everywhere.
  • Deeeep, repetitive sounds. Yup, that’s your vocal cord doing that!
  • YOU. ARE. ALMOST. CRAWLING.WITHOUT. THE. LITERAL. USE. OF. YOUR. HEAD. For now we check for forehead/cheek rug-burn post-crawl.
  • Swaddling? So month three.
  • Mommy still holds her breath entire car rides, whether five minutes or three hours, but Little Man thinks them slightly less torturous than before. Hallelujah.
  • We have our routines. Wake, eat, observe (passive learning), play (active learning), repeat. But sometimes Mommy breaks them as to try to develop the adaptability in you that she doesn’t necessarily have. Completely fair, right? E.g., sometimes we sleep not on Boppy against the boob but rather on the shoulder. Or sometimes it’s Daddy or Gma getting you to sleep. Sometimes we venture off in the white marshmallow of a fuel-efficient car just to get exposure and compliments about your cuteness (jk. But seriously.) at the grocery store and Daddy’s work.
  • On the note of Daddy’s work, I don’t know if this is a ┬ámilestone, a point of concern, a point of rejoicing, or what, but every time Mommy tried to cross from the outside into the inside of the car dealership in which Daddy works, you’d holler. Scream. Shriek bloody murder. So I’d back-pedal back onto the sun-heated, smoldering asphalt. Happy-happy. Okay, let’s try going in to mingle with the car team once more. BAAAAAH! Okay, back outside. This went on and on. And on and on. You won . . . of course.
  • Mommy’s brain cell count has significantly decreased. Yours? I think you silently map out calculus equations and the path to Atlantis on the walls.
  • Boy, do you laugh. Daddy is still The Funnies Man on Earth, but Mommy gets some giggles when she goes all convulsing dinosaur for you.
  • . . . Boobs still solve all.


healthy family




non toxic family

baby and dad

cruelty free living

healthy baby

daddy and boy


love animals

baby fun


daddy and baby

breastfed baby

There was spit-up, baby giggles, an “Aw, man, really? You’re laughing?” subsequent pee, and more giggles.



Half the time this is great fun. Half the time it's redolent of a car ride (the constriction, maybe?).

Half the time this is great fun. Half the time it’s redolent of a car ride (the constriction, maybe?).






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